Among the Many - An MCU Collection of What-If Stories and One-Shots
by Lavender Nebula Twilight
Summary: A collection of what-if stories and one-shots from my imagination in the MCU. What would Pietro's funeral be like? What if Clint died in Age of Ultron? How did Steve tell Bucky about his plan to stay with Peggy at the end of Endgame? What do I imagine Clint and Natasha's reunion to be like in Avengers: Endgame? Post-Avengers: Endgame. A lot of Clint whump. :D Rated T for violence.
1. One-Shot: Who You've Become

Welcome to _Among the Many_ , where you'll find a collection of one-shots and what-if scenarios throughout the MCU.

 **Summary:** A collection of what-if stories and one-shots from my imagination in the MCU. What if Steve killed Tony in Civil War? What if Tony was a victim of the Decimation in Infinity War? What if Odin never adopted Loki? What do I imagine Clint and Natasha's reunion to be like in Avengers: Endgame? Post-Avengers: Endgame trailer. Some entries have not yet been added. Rated T for violence.

 **Foreword:** This is just a collection of one-shots! Woo hoo! Not much explanation is needed for this story, but this volume will contain short stories from the MCU Movie universe, and the TV shows (Agents of SHIELD, as of recently). The lengths will vary. **Many one-shots will be regarding Avengers: Endgame, so obviously, spoilers.**

 **Author's Notes:**

SO. We finally got the Avengers: Endgame trailer and it. Is. Incredible! Hawkeye's reveal, him being my second favorite MCU character of all time, really shook me. By now, with all of the articles and proof that're on the internet, it's almost confirmed that he's turned into Ronin because of his family's death. :( I am SO SO excited for this movie and I also am so hungry for details about Clint. Has he turned completely bad? Is it just a madness summoned by severe grief? Is he going on a killing rage because he doesn't know how else to get rid of his grief? So many questions!

I've been thinking a lot since I began going through the MCU and watching the movies a few months ago about "what if" scenarios. I've never written what-if scenarios before and I started writing down some ideas. Eventually, I decided to, someday, start a book with a collection of what-if stories in it. I hadn't started it before the Endgame trailer dropped, but I've decided to add one-shots to the book as well.

So I have been thinking ever since seeing the trailer what Natasha and Clint's reunion will be like in Avengers: Endgame and it could go so many ways. Clint could be so different and dark that he barely recognizes Natasha. He could be completely different. He could be shocked to see Natasha. I could go on forever, but there are so many paths the Russo Brothers could take their reunion. I couldn't wait and I started this one-shot right away.

I've never written one-shots before and this was a great first. I felt the emotions throughout the whole writing process.

This one-shot takes the reunion in a painful way, not an emotional or surprised way. And as for the reason why Natasha (and her traveling companion in this one-shot) are in Japan, I don't know. Of course, we don't have that information yet. I tried to make up some kind of reason for them to be there aside from just...being there. I needed to have a reason, even if it was a flimsy, barely grounded one. Hopefully it doesn't pull away from the snippet.

Now, without further ado, please enjoy my very first one shot.

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

 _One-Shot: Natasha and Clint Imagined Reunion in Avengers: Endgame_

 _Title: **Who You've Become**_

The Quinjet grinds to a halt as the dying lights of Hong-Kong pierce through the ship's windows. Steve and I exchange a wary look as he hits the button to open the door. A light drizzle fades into being. An unspoken question resonates between our grieving minds.

 _What's happened to the rest of the world? Will it be nothing but silence?_

"You sure we're going to find anything, Steve?" My fingers drum restlessly against the baton on my waist as I picture the electricity winding through the weapon with the flick of a switch.

"Nothing's certain, Natasha. We can only hope."

I grit my teeth. "Hope didn't save _them_."

Steve sucks in a rattling breath. "I'm not giving up on them."

"They're gone, Steve. There's nothing we can do but trust in each other."

The captain thumps me on the shoulder, his stature stiff as he trudges out of the Quinjet. "You ready?"

"Ready enough." I strut down the ramp only the halt at the sight of the city.

Buildings, crumpled and destroyed amid burning wreckage. A purple sky, brooding and rumbling with an overhanging dread. The lights of Hong-Kong, usually alive and bright with color and activity, are dim and flickering with broken wires spilling from sidewalks. Telephone poles are splitting in half and cars, still smoldering. I take a few more steps, blinking. Stones crackle underfoot. A chill stings my skin as the wind howls, reeking of smoke and blood. Hardly any living thing, even in one of the largest cities on the globe.

"We heard there had been a disturbance, but none of the tech back at the facility indicated anything to this scale." I swallow hard as dust blows by my feet, a shiver flooding through me as I try to envision who's remains now whistle with the breeze.

"Do you think the Decimation did all this?"

"Negative. Over there." I jut my chin toward the beginning of an alleyway where a few men lay in a heap beside a group of trashcans, blood streaming from fatal gashes in their chests.

Steve rushes past me, dropping to one knee in front of the corpses. "This isn't the work of Thanos." As I draw near, I catch him muttering. "These are marks of a large blade. Thanos didn't use any weapon beside the power of the Gauntlet and his strength." He glances back at me. "And these attacks are fresh. They've happened very recently."

"How long ago?"

"Few hours. Maybe more."

Staring straight ahead, my stomach twists with every new body I pinpoint, sprawled on the ground with blood leaking from massive wounds. "Steve, they're everywhere."

"What?" Steve withdraws from his investigation. A small gasp escapes his lungs. "By the gods… What happened here?"

"I'll pull up the hologram." Ripping my eyes away from the gruesome sight, I fold my sleeve back and tap my watch's screen twice. A blue image wavers a few feet above my wrist, coalescing into a digital map and tracker with words clicking on the side. I squint to read the information. "Massive city destruction and genocide. Detected through satellites." I lower my arm. "Guess we didn't read that part."

"You think the killer's still here?"

"I would hope so. We've already got enough problems on our hands without having a murderer on the loose." I cock guns in both hands.

"Two on two. Keep watch. Constant scanning."

"Affermative."

We slam our backs together, sidestepping through the streets with our gazes locked on every moving thing. One step after another, one broken alley after another. Weapons loaded, reflexes alert, bonds tight. Minutes drag by. Still nothing.

At the end of the main street, Steve and I drop our guard, turning back to each other, sighing. "I'll bet whoever it was is long gone now."

"You pick up any tracks or clues on the way, Nat?"

I shake my head. "You?"

"No luck."

"Another dead trail." I drop my head, scratching the barrel of the gun with my thumbnail.

Here we are, two veterans, standing together in dead silence. Dead silence. Not even the wind blows anymore. Mourning passes between the two of us, darkening the mood and lowering our self-esteem as we're reminded, once again, of our brutal loss.

A shriek from afar jolts us to attention. Our legs erupt into action as we take off immediately toward the sound.

Another scream. We run faster. A sword unsheathing. Slicing through flesh. A thump.

Steve grunts, lengthening his stride as the process repeats.

Our feet pound on the splintered roads, blurring the debris below us.

The collection of lethal sounds comes a third time. A screech, a blade, a swipe of metal, and a thud as a body hits stone.

We round a corner and stagger to a halt. Three carcasses slump around a cloaked man, one beside a torn motorcycle, one on his stomach in front of a car, and one between the assassin's legs.

I can't stop my jaw from hanging as I observe the mysterious identity.

Dressed in brown attire with dull orange stripes lining the seams, the man dons a baleful aura, gripping a katana in his left hand. Blood streams down his cloak, running down his legs and pooling at his feet.

Steve takes a tentative step forward, squeezing my wrist in hesitant encouragement. "Hey! We don't know who you are and don't care, but you've got two of Earth's Mightiest Heroes to deal with now. Stop this reckless murder and state your business."

A few seconds pass. Out of the darkness croaks a hoarse chuckle, mocking in its low tone. "Earth's Mightiest Heroes…" The growl rasps out of a parched throat. "The Avengers… Yeah, that worked out quite well for you, didn't it?"

Steve's hands curl into fists and his eyes shine with unshed tears.

I allow a whisper to sneak out. "Steve, don't."

"Ah… Steve Rogers… Natasha Romanoff…" The masked killer flicks back his hood and pulls a black skintight cover off his head. Hair flecked with blood and drenched in rain crawls out, accented by shaved sides. "So nice to hear your voices again."

By now, the gravelly voice is hauntingly familiar. Too familiar. I sneak forward a few feet, slipping my electrical baton from my belt. Forcing myself to stay calm, I tempt a simple question. "Who are you?"

There's a pause. "I am Ronin."

Steve tugs me back. "You lost someone in the Decimation?"

A burst of laughter escapes the identity. "Someone?" The following word explodes as a roar. " _Someone?_ " His body trembles, dripping with blood and rain. "No, Captain. I lost everything." Slowly, he turns to face us.

The sight steals the words from my mouth.

His eyes, like poisoned fire, are as familiar as I recall, and yet dark with an eternity of emotion. Bloodlust dances in his gaze and gives way to a terrifying madness that words of reason will not douse.

Standing before me, red rain streaming down his face, is Agent Clint Barton.

A deadly sneer plays amid the blood. "As will you."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Hope you enjoyed!

Read and review!


	2. One-Shot: We Fought To Die

Welcome to my second entry of my collection, Among the Many!

I saw Endgame for the second time a couple days ago and I'm _blown away_ , **still**. I WANT CLINT WHUMP FICS! I decided to write some myself, and I have some good ideas... :D

Anyway, this one-shot CONTAINS ENDGAME SPOILERS of course.

 _ **SPOILERS BELOW.**_

When the team returns from the Quantum Realm, I love how they all were talking amongst themselves before Clint stomps on the ground with the most emotional, scarred, saddest expression of dread on his face. But I started thinking, what if this reaction and Clint's internal reaction afterward went a different way? This is what this one-shot is about. I basically rewrote Nat's...well, the Vormir scene, in my own words from Clint's memory. I cried while writing this partly because I was listening to Endgame music while I was writing it, and partly because I wrote it the night I saw Endgame for the second time. Everything was still very very fresh.

If you want to listen to the same music I cried to while writing it, then the tracks are Totally Fine and Not Good.

Enjoy!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

 _One-Shot: An Alternate, Longer Reaction to Natasha Not Returning_

 _Title: **We Fought To Die**_

The blazing colors of the Quantum Realm zip into the past as the team warps back to the present. At once, excited chatter explodes into being as helmets fold back and curiosity demands answers. Every word fades into background as I lift my right hand and curl open my fingers. The soft, orange glow of the Soul Stone reflects back at me, sitting so innocently in the palm of my gloved hand. The world blurs as tears sting in my eyes. With every beat of my heart, the Soul Stone seems to pulse in response.

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

The tears spill from my gaze. Cold air swirls around me as if I'm back on Vormir, against at the bloody sunset as the two of us fight to die:

 _I knock Natasha over, pinning her down._

 _"_ _Tell my family I love them."_

 _Legs tripping mine. Disarmed. On the ground. Nat's standing over me, arm poised._

 _"_ _Tell them yourself."_

 _Her wrist flashes blue and a shock of electricity crackles through my bones. I snap back against the ground, crying out._

 _Then Nat's gone and, by her footsteps, she's running._

 _I jump to my feet and fire an arrow. A small explosion disables her._

 _Now's my chance._

 _Now I'm running, the snow dropping in slow motion. Closer, closer, closer– NOW._

 _I rocket off the ledge, leaping into the sunset._

 _Time. Stands. Still._

 _Natasha's body rams into mine and we both hurtle off the edge._

 _We're falling, fading, together._

 _Nat fires a grappling hook onto the wall and we jolt to a stop. Pain cracks along my arm as we slam against the stone. Gritting my teeth, I shoot a glance at the hook holding our weight. The wire's caught on my belt, restricting movement and suspending…me…in one position. Natasha's gripping my wrist like a vice as gravity battles for dominance. Straining, I reach for her hand with my free one and our fingers come within mere inches of each other. The pain from the earlier collision stabs through my muscles and I withdraw with a grunt._

 _Natasha blinks at me, her emerald eyes flooded with a gentle acceptance. Her lips twitch into a gentle smile._

 _The snow, the cold, the pain, none of that registers anymore. My actions restricted, our positions locked by the hook, Nat at gravity's mercy…_

 _No. She can't._

 _I shake my head, my eyes welling up. "No."_

 _Natasha's whisper floats on the wind. "Let me go."_

 _My heartbeat surges. No. Please, no. She can't, she can't, she can't._

 _Snow catches on her eyelashes."It's okay."_

 _Tears pour from my gaze, my stomach churning. "Please…"_

 _One last grin touches her face. Then she kicks off the wall and slips from my grasp._

 _"_ _NO!" I twist to catch her, but she's pushed herself out of my reach._

 _Natasha's body plummets, smaller, smaller, smaller, her red pigtail flying beside her._

 _Shaking with incoming sobs, I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to watch._

 _One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. Four–_

 _A thud sounds from far below, as well as the distant crack of bones._

 _Hanging, suspended, dangling from a grappling hook, I melt into tears._

 _The clouds above part and circle upward into a spiral, throbbing with blue veins of light._

 _I tilt my head back. A flare of lightning blinds me and–_

I blink a couple times to bring myself back to the present. I'm trembling so hard that I'm vaguely surprised I've been able to hold on to the Soul Stone. But something's different around me.

Everyone's fallen silent. Staring at me, no doubt.

I drag my chin up, latching my gaze on the person nearest.

Steve.

He steps toward me, swallowing hard. "Clint?"

Bruce's green frame shifts. "Where's Nat?"

 _"_ _A thud sounds from far below, as well as the distant crack of bones."_

My muscles go limp and the Soul Stone clatters to the floor.

 _She's gone, she's gone, she's gone._

A hand squeezes my shoulder. Steve's intense eyes carve into my own, one thousand questions swimming in the blue depths. "Clint?" The single murmured word presses on the truth, which freezes like ice in my veins. The words die on on my lips. Instead, I twitch my head from side to side, wordlessly confirming their suspicions.

Somewhere far away, Bruce pounds a fist on the floor.

I crumple to my knees, the Soul Stone sitting between my hands.

 _No…_

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** Clint whump!

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	3. One-Shot: A Sister

Welcome to the third one-shot of Among The Many!

 _ **SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME AHEAD**_

I've always wondered how the Bartons would react to Vormir's casualty. It didn't really solidify until I read the first chapter of a fanfiction called _A Proper Goodbye_ by FictionWriter91. That's where I got the idea to write my own one-shot where Clint was breaking it to them.

Mine is longer, doesn't merely involve the news breaking, and it takes a little while to get into it, but I LOVE IT AND HATE IT. NAT... I'M SORRY...

Responding to reviews!

 **Trolllovergirl:** Thank you! I'm glad you enjoyed it :D

 **FictionWriter91:** _(chapter 1)_ Awwww, thank you! I love it when I get reviews, so I try to do the same for other people and _really_ tell them what I felt strongly about their fanfiction and writing. :D I _did_ hop over to a couple of your other Avengers stories and they were very interesting! I could only ask the same to you xD lol jk do what you wish  
 _(chapter 2)_ Oh, haha! I never mean to make readers cry, but then again, it _is_ a sign of strong writing and I do love that one-shot, though, so I'm happy about it all the same. Thanks for reviewing!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

 _One-Shot: Clint Telling His Family About Vormir's Casualty_

 _Title: **A Sister**_

"So…" Laura places her hands on mine, the bed sagging under our weight. "Mr. Strange said that it was…five years?"

I blink up at her and grit my teeth. Fire smolders through my body. The first time we've talked about this…and it's more painful than ever.

"Hey…" Laura strokes my cheek, brushing her fingers over my tight jaw. "Relax, Clint. Relax. It's okay."

I loosen my jaw and lean into her palm, letting her warmth melt the lump in my throat. "Yeah. Five years."

"I mean, for us, it just felt like a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day."

Laura's reference to Nathaniel's favorite book gets me to laugh. Something that hasn't been that common of late.

"But to you… Five years. Five _years!_ That's a long time, Clint."

"I know."

Laura caresses my left arm where the tattoos frown grimly up at me. "Is there anything you want to…" she glances over to my sheathed katana in the corner of the bedroom, "talk about?"

"Not really, but I guess I have to."

"You've got to at some point."

I massage my ring finger, on which sits the ring that, until a few mere days ago, had been absent for five years against my skin. "I lost myself. Something clicked and…I was just…so angry. Grieving, but _always_ so angry at everything. In the waking world, I was mad with grief, killing countless criminals for a goal I didn't even reach. I was crying myself to sleep most nights, finding little rest in the shelter I would seek out. Sometimes, I'd take up a bed for the night in a house that had been abandoned in the wake of the Decimation. Even in sleep, I found no rest." I shake my head and avert my gaze. "Nightmares. Panic attacks in the dark. Countless hours of twilight, stuck in a dreamlike reality where you were still alive. I couldn't escape it. I-I…" I trail off, not knowing how to proceed.

Laura pats the back of my hand, offering silent encouragement.

As I'm inhaling to start again, a shout from the bottom of the stairs cuts me off.

"Dad?"

I scramble from the bed. "Yeah, Lila?"

"Um… Captain America is at the door. He's asking for you."

A jolt in my stomach propels me down the stairs. I squeeze Lila's shoulder before prying open the door.

Steve stands on the porch, his hands clasped at his belt and his expression firm. He nods in greeting. "Clint."

I return the gesture. "Captain. What's up?"

"I want to talk to you. Alone. Out here."

I exchange a look with Laura and swallow hard. "Oh…kay? What about?"

Steve raises his eyebrows. "I said alone, didn't I?"

I follow him out onto the lawn.

Steve stops short and stares into the sky, blinking slowly. His shoulders rise and fall with deep breathing.

A couple birds flap past and the breeze rustles the trees.

"It's been a week since everyone came back." He turns to me. "How've you been holding up?"

I grind my teeth. "You want me to be honest?"

"Please."

A huge sigh drops my shoulders. "Pretty low. Now, I-I _know_ that I got my family, but…" I'm silent for a couple seconds. "She's still gone."

Steve watches me with a furrowed brow. "I can't imagine what it's like. The rest of us, we're grieving, yes, but, you-you saw the whole thing play out before your eyes. You watched Natasha die. Right in front of you."

I snap my head up. "And what's the point of this? Why are you rubbing this in? You _do_ know that I'm _not_ the only one hurting after all this, right? You know that? So why are you acting like everything is terrible for me and not for anyone else?"

Steve doesn't flinch. "I'm doing my rounds. Checking up on everyone before I bring the stones back. And besides, I want to ask you something."

My muscles tense up.

The captain points his chin toward the house behind me. "Do they know?"

I purse my lips. Not many words come, and those that do I don't want to admit.

Steve narrows his eyes at my silence. "Surely they've asked about her?"

"Yeah, they have. Many times."

"And? What have you told them?"

My hands ball into fists. "I-I told them that she's on vacation."

Steve's face drops. "You know you can't keep that up forever. They're going to find out, whether you tell them the truth or not."

I peel my jacket from my chest, crumpling it into a ball between my palms. With a huff, I pivot and begin strolling back to the house.

"Clint."

I groan. "What?"

"Tell them. They deserve to know."

"No."

"Why not?"

Once again, I keep quiet.

Steve's voice hardens. "Clint, why not? You can't keep something like this from–!"

" _Stop!_ " I whirl around, slamming my jacket on the ground. "You think it's easy? You think it's easy telling my wife and children that someone they've known for years and years is rotting at the bottom of a snowy mountain? No. I can barely even _think_ about her without feeling something akin the darkness from those five years that sent me into some mangled, shriveled up version of myself. I– ." My speech catches on the lump in my throat. The tears are coming. I can feel it. "I can't." With that last proclamation, I whip around and burst into the house, rushing upstairs and smashing our bedroom door shut.

Laura's calling from downstairs, but her cries fall on deaf ears as I collapse onto the bed.

Then the tears come. Fast. Constant. Endless.

* * *

"Clint."

I moan in my slumber, waving off the dream with a sleepy hand.

"Clint, wake up. It's Laura."

My eyes flutter open. Laura's face swerves into focus above me, her smile tight and forced.

"Hey, Sleepyhead."

I struggle to sit up, my forehead creased as I analyze the situation. Outside gleams the dark of evening, not the shining midday sun like when I'd been talking with Steve. My hair is tousled and unkempt from the pillow and the clock is blinking half-past-six. I switch my attention on Laura. "I fell asleep?"

My wife bobs her head and loses her grin. "I was worried about you, so I came to check up a couple hours ago. You were dead to the world."

Dead to the world.

Dead.

 _Natasha._

Laura plops herself beside me. "What-what are you not telling me? You've been so…different lately. It's not you."

I catch myself in our mirror and do a double take. Red, puffy eyes. Dark circles.

 _"_ _They deserve to know."_

I can't bring myself to even start. How do you talk about something like this?

Laura tilts my face toward hers. "She's not on vacation, is she?"

A massive shudder wracks my body.

"Don't think I haven't noticed. I've been watching you, Clint. When the children ask about her, you try to stay calm, but your eyes betray your feelings. You change the subject as soon as you can. I've heard you muttering to yourself. In the bathroom, outside, when you think there's no one else around… I've heard you saying her name in your sleep, begging her not to let go."

I slide off the bed, my trembling hands groping for something to tinker with to set my mind off the feelings that Laura's bringing back. "Stop, Laura. Not now."

"Clint… Don't think you have to struggle alone." Laura follows me and ends my pacing with a kiss. "Come here." She gathers me in her arms with a gentle inhale.

I accept her embrace with open arms. My chest aches with unshed tears, but I'm holding them back. For now. Who knows how long I can lock the darkness away…

After a few minutes of this, Laura pulls away and leaves me to my thoughts.

It takes about an hour for me to calm down and clean myself up enough to head downstairs for dinner. When I do, I discover the table still set as it had been when Laura'd woken me up.

Laura spots me. "All right, kids, come on! Your father's here. Dinner time!"

I corner her as she's hauling the meals over. "You waited for me?"

"I didn't want you to eat alone."

"You didn't have to do that."

"Well, it's done and over." Laura winks at me and gives me a peck on the cheek before setting the food down in the middle of the kitchen table. "All right, let's eat! Meatloaf, spinach, and cheesy potatoes! Felt like I spent a week on this one."

Nathaniel squeals and digs his fork into the potatoes.

Cooper scrunches his nose as Laura scoops a few pieces of spinach onto his place. "Do I have to?"

"Yes, Cooper. You can't just eat cheese and meat for the rest of your life."

I pretend not to notice Lila's curious looks at me as she fills her plate.

A couple minutes of silent eating commence before–

"Dad, when's Auntie Nat getting back from vacation?" Nathaniel shoves a piece of spinach into his mouth.

The fork freezes halfway to my lips.

 _"_ _They deserve to know."_

I sink my teeth into my tongue, fighting the memories.

 _"_ _Let me go."_

 _"_ _No. Please, no."_

 _Snow falls on Natasha's face, her expression deep in acceptance, despite the circumstances. "It's okay."_

 _"_ _No…"_

 _She rips her wrist from my grip._

 _Then she's falling, fading, fast._

 _Broken bones. Blood._

 _Gone._

Back in the present, I'm painfully aware that everyone's focus is on me. Even Laura's stare is nerve-wracking. Tears crawl into my burning eyes. I can't go back now.

Lila squints at me. "D-Dad? What is it?"

I release a shaky breath. "Natasha… She-she's not…on…vacation."

Cooper goes rigid. His eyes bulge as he sets his cup down. "No. Are you saying…?"

I open my mouth to tell the truth. However, instead of words, the tears start to fall. "She-she sacrificed her life for us. For them. For me. So I could come home to you. But she's not. She's never coming home." I bow my head, fighting against the onslaught of grief surging in my mind.

 _"_ _I can barely even_ think _about her without feeling something akin the darkness from those five years that sent me into some mangled, shriveled up version of myself."_

Cooper's shaking his head, saying 'no' over and over again.

Nathaniel's crying.

Lila's paralyzed.

I shut my eyes and picture her. Budapest. Training together. Our first mission together. The first time we fought as one. The first time I'd introduced her to my family. The way she'd fallen in love with them almost immediately. The first time she'd ever called me friend. The first time she'd ever called me brother. Brother. "She was…amazing. She was an aunt. A friend. A warrior."

 _"_ _We're a long way from Budapest."_

The grief is too much. Too much…

"A sister."

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** A sister indeed...

I love Clint and Natasha. So so much. Unlike most people, I don't ship them as lovers. One of my unpopular MCU opinions is that I wholeheartedly accept and, frankly, love to death all of the MCU canon relationships and, when two people are just friends (Natasha and Clint, Steve and Natasha, etc.), then I love that and continue to ship them _as_ friends. The Clintasha friendship is incredible.

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	4. One-Shot: The Real Heroes

Welcome to the fourth one-shot of Among The Many!

 **SPOILERS FOR AVENGERS: ENDGAME AHEAD.**

So I lost enthusiasm for The Weight Of Us, sadly, unfortunately, so I decided to change the first chapter to a one-shot and tack it onto this book.

Enjoy (if you haven't read this already i guess)!

 **Disclaimer:**

 **I do not own the Avengers movies, the Marvel franchise, or any of the characters. That all belongs to Marvel Studios. Everything to Marvel Studios.** **Any added dialogue, plots, or characters are mine, but nothing else. I don't own it.**

* * *

 _One-Shot: Clint At Natasha And Tony's Funeral aka Former Chapter One of The Weight Of Us_

 _Title: **The Real Heroes**_

"And now Clint Barton would like to come up and say a few words about both Stark and Romanoff. Thank you."

I shudder in my all-black suit and Laura squeezes my arm beside me for silent support. Catching her eye, I have to steel myself not to look away as her gaze gives a wordless message:

 _Just pour your heart out. These are friends you're talking to and…they were too._

Steve steps down from the podium as the audience applauses and nods to me.

My shoulders rise and fall as I inhale and release a huge, shaking breath. Laura's hands slip from my arm as I pull myself to my feet. It's a herculean task to put one foot in front of the other as I trudge toward the podium, feeling the weight of death like a physical burden on my shoulders. The wooden steps upward are like hours and I resist the urge to wipe my brow.

One step.

Then the next. And the next.

The last step.

Finally.

After what stretches out to what seems like infinity, I'm whacking my palms on the sides of the podium, probably with a little too much force, and adjusting the speaker sticking out before me with scrambling fingers. I scan the funeral house. Every chair is filled with friends, family, veterans, and heroes from near and far dressed in all different sorts of attire from planets and countries beyond. Capes, belts, haircuts, suits, weapons, magic, flashes of color… The variety startles me. Every attention span locks on me, waiting. Waiting for the words that might never come. I'm trembling. Hard. Maybe to hard to speak. But I'd practiced for this eulogy.

Yeah, right. Practiced. If that's what you call failing.

Countless attempts front of a mirror or Laura herself have taught me that I'm not getting through this without crying.

My focus flicks not to Laura, but someone else.

Lila.

All of the Bartons had taken Auntie Nat's death in a different way, however, Lila's response had taken on a striking similarity to mine. The mask of anger to hide the grief. On the bright side, our conversations alone on the porch have skyrocketed in feeling and truth, working through our own darkness together.

Regardless, she's not the one about to break down in front of a room of people.

Lila grants me a tiny grin in return and mouths, " _just start talking._ "

With one last dip of my head to my family, I suck in air and plunge head-first into my eulogy.

"I never _really_ knew Stark." I spare a sidelong glance to the open coffin where Stark lays, his hands folded over his stomach and his last reactor clutched in his scarred fingers. His face frozen in a peaceful sleep, his chest unmoving, and his skin cleaned of the dirt and blood from the final battle. "We were allies. Sometimes, I could even call us…friends. Yeah, I lived in his house for a bit, helped him fight off some murderous robot and a galaxy full of aliens, made him know every day how much I hated him, all in good fun really…" I search the crowd for Pepper and their daughter, Morgan, and a pang of encouragement strikes me when I see smiles amid their tears. "What I never told Stark was that…I respected him. It didn't matter whether he was treating me like a jerk or a useless, arrow-slinging extra, it didn't matter how he was treating Tasha– ," my voice chokes. I force it to continue, "I respected him. His brains, his nonchalance, the ease with which he maneuvered tough situations, the humor he passed off as part of his winning personality, his egotistic comments in the thick of battle, and, yes, even his comments about me being the most useless Avenger.

"And still, in all of that, I always could find some shred of respect for him. And, in a way, I knew he respected me too. He didn't kick me out of the Avengers. Sometimes I think he would've easily done it if it weren't for Natasha's sake. I was…lucky enough to have spent all the time that I did with him and I've been far less grateful than he deserved. There were so many times where I could've left a room or dropped out of a party because Tony was doing something stupid. I stayed. In his most annoying moments, I could've chosen to brush it off and keep on having fun, or make a grudge. Unfortunately, I did have some grudges over the years. Civil War, especially.

"BUT, after all is said and done, he's forgiven. He saved us and, I'll always remember him. I'm sure we all will. He'll be missed, especially his huge name plastered in the sky. For some odd reason, I'll miss that too." I swallow with difficulty and twist my neck toward the coffin on the other side of the podium that's– empty.

Some people have told me that it's a gracious way of honoring her sacrifice without having her physically there. Every time I see it, it's a knife through my heart, and the only thing in my head is her bleeding, broken body at the bottom of Vormir's prophetic mountain. What an image to give a eulogy by.

"Now, Natasha…"

I'm about to begin this section when–

 _"_ _It's okay."_

Flashbacks.

A wave of tears blurs my vision and I stop short. I drop my head with a sigh. "No matter how many times I've practiced, this-this always happens."

Laughter ripples throughout the crowd.

I grab a second to compose myself.

"Natasha…didn't start well. Her past was…ugly…to say the least and for so many years of her life she was constantly trying to make up for the horrors with compassionate deeds and goodnatured acts of kindness. She was always, always, always trying to _be better_ , to outdo herself, to extend her hero work to cover up for the lies and the killing and everything that she said had made her ledger drip like it did. She's told me time and time again how grateful she is to me for saving her from the KGB's dark surveillance.

"The one thing that I would say to her if she was still alive wouldn't be…thank you, it would be that…" I work my jaw, holding back a torrent, "I'm so sorry. I could've run to her after the Decimation, seeking her comfort and a shoulder to cry on, but no. Instead, I left her. I left everyone and escaped into the shell of Ronin that I thought would heal me. It made things worse. And, in doing so, I missed five years worth of time that I could've spent with her. But, as if it was her life all over again in my stead, she came to me and saved me. Gave me the hope I didn't know I needed. On that day, she was– quite literally– my umbrella from the rain. She– ."

Mind blank.

 _Please, no. I've waited long enough for this._

I blink up at the ceiling, pondering how to continue. As my memory rushes back, I recall the wavering handwritten notecards at home and the words I'd planned to end with. One look at the empty coffin changes my mind, however.

"I-I wasn't going to do this, but…" My hand spiders down to my pocket where the physical memory sits. I yank it out, revealing a wrapped grappling hook to the audience. "This is the grappling hook that I was attached to when she let go. For some reason, it was with me when I returned from the Quantum Leap. It was a battle to disarm the other, a fight to die. I jumped first, then she jumped onto me. Shot the hook, then it-it all played out from there."

My jaw clenches as the tears intensify. I'm so wrapped in the memory that I don't even care about the tears rolling down my cheeks.

 _The two of us hang, suspended between life and death, on the snowy cliff. The ribbons of color birthing the eternal sunset flash like blood in my sight. Cold pain throbs through my swinging body as gravity fights to wrench the hook from its position. I grit my teeth as Natasha grips my wrist like a vice and spit a curse into the chilled air._

 _We reach for each other's free hand. That motion threatens to take us both down._

 _Then slowly, carefully, Natasha turns her head to stare down at death's gate. When she returns her former position, her expression makes me colder than any amount of snow and wind could._

 _She looks…accepting. Peaceful, even._

 _My eyes bulge as realization swamps me, so powerful that if I'd been standing, I would've dropped like a stone._

 _She's going to do it._

 _No. Please. She can't. There's gotta be a way. There's gotta be._

 _"_ _Let me go."_

 _"_ _No." I shake my head. "No, please, no."_

 _She nods, a lifetime of love swimming in her tears. "It's okay."_

 _The world slows down. Still, one broken request passes through quivering lips. "Please…"_

A hand on my bicep jerks me from the recollection. "Hey."

I flutter open my eyes. Since when had I closed them? My hands pop with angry veins and my fingers clutch the podium so tightly that they're flooded white.

Laura's beside me. "Are you done?"

My gaze lands on Natasha's coffin. "N-no."

"Then I'll be right here, but you gotta finish– they're waiting."

One study of the room confirms her statement.

I clear my throat. "Sorry…about that, um… I'm not going to go on much longer because everyone can see that I can't. I just want to at least try to sum up my feelings for her."

Laura fingers the fabric of my jacket.

"Natasha Romanoff was a best friend."

Steve bows his head.

"An aunt."

The Barton children squirm in the front seats.

"A veteran."

Sam wrings his hands in his lap.

"A warrior."

Bruce's huge, green frame slumps.

"And…" I squeeze Laura's hand on my shoulder, "A sister. I loved her in a way that I'll never love anyone else. She was the sister I never had, the sister I always wanted. There were so many days where something had gone wrong and I'd be on a mission and Laura wouldn't be there… Natasha would seek me out. Comfort me. Cry with me. Bandage my wounds, whether they were physical or emotional." I pat the back of Laura's hand. "I'm not gonna lie and say that it hurts more for me than anyone else, but…I _did_ see her fall. I couldn't stop her from jumping after me. I couldn't make myself watch her hit the ground and see her body break upon impact. And I also couldn't save her. But if it weren't for her, I would not be here today. I know everyone says that and it's a bit cliche. Still, it's true. I didn't think I needed anyone else after I met Laura. Then…Nick sent me after Tasha and…and I realized just how wrong I was."

By now, the entire room is sniffing, as am I.

I'm not done yet.

"I, um…I actually wrote a poem yesterday about her. I-I thought I'd share it here. Okay, uh… It's called 'Death Is Cruel, Death Is Kind.'

 _With snow, sun, and colors aligned,_

 _You achieved your peace of mind._

 _I saw you fall, I saw you die,_

 _Upon the prophetic mountain high._

 _I see your body every night,_

 _In leaps of action, blood, and light._

 _But when we met, so long ago,_

 _I'd never imagined how much we'd grow._

 _Natasha, I loved you–_

 _My sister through and through._

 _You've reached your end, and I'll miss you 'til my own._

 _Goodbye, Natasha, ash under stone."_

I drop my arms to my sides and end my eulogy. "Thank you."

* * *

I fidget in the corner of the room, secluding myself from the chatter and bustle of the reception. The refreshments gleam with colors both natural and artificial, strewn across the table in plates and bowls and platters in neat decoration and arrangement. Conversations flank me on all sides. The words cut through like knives and snippets of discussion reach my ears.

"Stark was truly Iron Man."

"I'm gonna miss Natasha."

"I wonder what it was like– ."

"Clint saw her die."

"How old is Morgan?"

"This funeral's been wonderful."

"I haven't cried this much since– ."

"–can't believe she's not coming back."

I suck in a breath.

Claustrophobia pushes at me from the noise, suffocating.

Trapped.

Chained.

Closing in.

Closer.

Closer…

I burst into a nearby door without reading what it says and enter into a hallway, traversing through it until the sounds fade away to a gentle murmur. I rest a hand on the wall and observe my location.

The hallway that I've entered into scales around the edges of the building, meant for maneuvering the funeral home without the crowds, probably. Perfect.

As I'm taking careful steps through the thin corridor, my thoughts start to run away with me.

I picture Natasha's corpse at the bottom of Vormir's mountain. Frozen. Bleeding. Broken. Crows could come and peck at her body, peeling the dead skin from her bones and all the while watched over by the red-faced man who'd first introduced the sacrifice to come. Such a beautiful face as Natasha's, stabbed with scavenging beaks, dripping red in their gruesomeness. I'd said that there was nothing I could've done. No, I could've done something. I could've stopped her, tripped her, shot the grappling hook instead of her, _something_. But I didn't. And now she's gone.

Gone. Forever.

Memory after memory of Natasha's consultive and comforting presence wash like black sea waves over me, bringing with them powerful surges of dizziness as every scene intensifies the ache in my chest.

 _"_ _Well, if put an arrow in Loki's eye-socket, I'd sleep better, I suppose."_

 _"_ _Now you sound like you." Natasha plops beside me on the bed._

 _"_ _But you don't. You're a spy, not a soldier. Now you want to wade into a war? Why? What did Loki do to you?"_

 _Natasha purses her lips. "He didn't, I just…"_

 _I reach for her hand, her name exiting my mouth as a whisper. "Natasha…"_

 _"_ _I've been compromised. I got red in my ledger. I'd like to wipe it out."_

I've just barely brought myself back when another, more painful scene plays itself out–

 _"_ _What I want…you can't give me." I twirl my sword around and plunge it deep into Akihiko's stomach. His body falls to the ground. The blood gushing from his wounds mingles with the puddles of rain and pools around my boots. I run the blade of my katana across the crook of my elbow to cleanse it of the criminal's lifeblood._

 _Footsteps alert me to a presence from behind and I reveal my face. "You shouldn't be here."_

 _"_ _Neither should you."_

 _The familiar voice pierces my heart and mind, but I don't let it show. I turn slowly toward her, slapping my mask on my leg to wring out the water. My next statement growls through gritted teeth with ice and venom. "I've got a job to do."_

 _"_ _Is that what you're calling this? Killing all these people isn't gonna bring your family back."_

 _That breaks me. The frown creased in my brow crumples and I drop my chin. The long-lasting darkness that comes with the mention or thought of the Bartons creeps back into my mind._

 _Natasha approaches. "We found something. A chance, maybe…"_

 _My entire body trembles with the effort of holding back tears and I meet her gaze with wounded eyes. "Don't."_

 _"_ _Don't what?"_

 _For once, I'm grateful to the rain for disguising my tears. "Don't give me hope."_

 _"_ _I'm-I'm sorry I couldn't give it to you sooner."_

The squeezing in my lungs returns me to the present. I stumble against the wall, hugging my chest.

 _What if it happens again? What if I return to Ronin? Natasha won't be there and I'll…I'll kill more people than I ever did. She helped me through so many things, I-I… She's gone. I couldn't save her. How am I going to survive without her? I'm alone. She's gone and I'm not. She's never coming back. I'm alone…_

Her body, her blood, her words, her promise, her…death.

Every breath feels like Thor's crushing my chest and forcing them out. I'm gasping through a dry throat.

 _Please, no. Please. Tasha… No… Please come back… I need…you… Please…_

My heartbeat thunders in my temples like fire, rapid, strong, painful.

 _"_ _In order to take the stone…"_

I crush my arms around my ribcage. My legs buckle and I sink to the floor, pressing my back against the wall. My stomach clenches with nausea and I'm shivering hard, fast, endless.

 _"…_ _you must lose…"_

The fancy clothes I'd dressed in for the funeral are soaked as if I'd just leaped into the Atlantic. Heat flashes through my body. I slam my eyes shut. Everything's dizzy and swimming.

 _Natasha, please. No… I can't live without you. Please come back… Tasha…_

I'm shaking.

 _"…_ _that which you love."_

 _Love._

 _Natasha._

I can't feel the wall behind me. I can't feel my arms around my sides. I can't remember where I am. Just pain. Darkness. Natasha. Please, don't go. Don't let go. Don't let go. Stay with me. Stay with me. Please.

 _"_ _An everlasting exchange."_

I can barely sense the stiffness of dried tears on my cheeks.

 _"_ _A soul, for a– ."_

"Clint!"

I snap back against the wall with a gasp.

Brown hands dance in front of me, splitting in twos and threes.

"Whoa, Clint, easy, m– . It's– kay. Br– the."

I dig my fingernails in the carpet, still gasping.

"Clint, it's Sam. Listen to me. Breathe. Just breathe."

I start to curl into myself again. "I-I can't. I can't…!"

"Yes, you can. Breathe with me."

In the back of my chaotic mind, I hear Sam begin to both inhale and exhale slowly. Even though I've no understanding of what's happened or is happening, something makes me obey.

In, out.

Inhale, exhale.

Breathe in, breathe out.

Inhale, exhale.

Slow going in, even slower coming out.

Like waves.

Just Sam and I, sitting across from each other, matching the breath pattern of the other person. There's something relaxing about copying someone else's respiration. It feels like years, and yet, it's odd how fast I calm down.

The first movement I make since Sam had torn me from my trance is a glance at my surroundings.

Right. The noise. The hallway. How I'd escaped into it.

I lift my hands from the carpet to my lap and my nails come away with bits of fabric in them.

For the first time in that moment, I tilt my face up and meet Sam's gaze. But I can barely hold it for one second before dropping my guard.

Sam rubs my shoulder. "Don't suppose you know what just happened?"

I move my head from side to side.

"You had an anxiety attack, Clint. A bad one."

I stay motionless.

"But you're back; that's what matters."

I keep silent.

One second. Two seconds. Five. Fifteen. Thirty.

Laura's voice yells from the end of the hallway.

"Sam?"

"Yeah, found him."

I scrunch my eyebrows. "'Found me?'"

Sam frowns. "You've been gone for two hours."

"Two– !"

"No one thought to look back here. This is a big building."

"And where's 'here?'"

"Did you not read what the door said?"

I swallow hard. "No…"

Laura strides up beside Sam, her features tight and firm. "'Authorized Personnel Only.'"

With a groan, I lean my head against the the wall.

Laura drops to one knee. "What were you _thinking?_ We've all been so worried. The funeral's almost over n– !"

"Laura." Sam cuts her off.

"What?"

"Give him a break. Bad anxiety attack."

Laura falls into silence. After a few long seconds, her voice softens. "Oh. That-that's why you were back here for two hours?"

I shrug. "Felt like ten minutes."

Laura sighs. "Well, you look terrible, so let's get you home and hopefully a nap will fix this."

I nod sluggishly and rise. I'm on my feet for half a second when my legs give way and I'm falling.

Sam dives to catch me and hauls me to a standing position once more.

I barely get a breath in before Laura squashes me in a hug.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Clint."

I reciprocate. "Yeah, me too."

She pulls away and cups my face with her warm hands. "You _are_ okay, right?"

"Yeah. Just-just exhausted."

Laura chuckles. "I can see that."

Sam leads us out, during which I attempt to refuse help from Laura despite feeling like I'd fought an entire ocean and lost. A nap _would_ be nice. My eyelids definitely seem to think so, as they act like anchors and fight to pull me into sleep.

We find the main room again, this time much emptier than when I'd left it, for most of the guests have gone. The children take their turns hugging me. As we're walking out the door, I turn to Sam. "Hey, uh…thanks, Sam. For being patient with me."

"Ah, well…" Sam smirks. "I've got experience in the field. Glad I was able to snap you out of it."

"So am I."

Sam claps me on the back. "Keep your chin up, Clint. You're not alone."

I watch him stroll to his car and drive off.

After a quick word with Laura, I strap myself into the passenger seat and let the monotonous lull of the car's movement lock me in a slumber so deep that nightmares don't follow me.

* * *

 **AUTHOR'S NOTES:** MAN this was an emotional ride to write. I've been working on this for two days now and I'm so so so happy with the result. It was also a lot longer than I'd originally planned. I didn't plan for him to have an anxiety attack, but that popped into my head and I was like, "OH emotionally destroyed Clint LET'S DO IT."

I cried so many times when writing Clint's eulogy. In a way, his eulogy is a way of saying goodbye, myself. Natasha is my favorite female Avenger and my second fav MCU character of all time, topped only by Clint himself. Their friendship is incredible. And **_no_** , I don't ship them as lovers. Their friendship is so so so amazing and I love them as such. No, they're brother and sister actually, haha lol.

Sorry for the discontinued _The Weight Of Us!_ :(

Read and review!


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